Conduit Read online

  Sojourner Soulseeker: Conduit

  by

  Maria Rachel Hooley

  Sojourner Soulseeker: Conduit

  Copyright ©2014 Maria Rachel Hooley

  Cover by Phatpuppy Art

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

  Chapter One

  In spite of the late August heat, a slight breeze blew, temporarily cooling the world as the last rays of the sun disappeared beyond the horizon, Celia sat on the porch swing with Griffin. As they swayed slowly to and fro, she rested her head on his shoulder.

  “How do you think he’s doing?” he asked, staring at the sky, watching it darken. It had been six months since Lev’s change, but in some ways it felt like yesterday.

  “Lev’s trying to adjust, but it’s not easy.” She reached out and slid her hand over his. “It’s one thing to be human, but to have been an angel first only to switch is tricky. I can’t imagine what it must be like for him.”

  Griffin nodded and used his feet to push the swing again. “Lizzie said he sometimes takes the whole teenage guy thing to an extreme, something she wasn’t prepared for.”

  “Yeah, it’s the hormones. He’s trying to fight them off, but it’s hard to combat something you have no experience dealing with.” She toyed with a strand of hair-- one of the few human gestures she’d seemed to take to since Griffin had known her. Still, had he not witnessed her powers as an angel, he wouldn’t have expected the truth. He wasn’t like Lizzie, what with the otherworldly connection she’d shared with Lev. He’d found out the hard way.

  Celia leaned forward, her long, curly hair spilling into her face as she stood and crossed to the edge of the porch.

  “So where does this leave them?” Griffin asked. “I know Lizzie’s worried about it.” His feet stopped the swing, his gaze never straying from her even as she stared into the starry sky.

  “She’s not the only one. I can’t lie and say both Evan and I are aren’t concerned. We know he wanted to be human, and the change was a gift, but none of us saw this coming.” She folded her arms across her chest, and in the near darkness her body seemed to glow.

  As Griffin slowly stood, he squinted, focusing on Celia’s back. At first, he saw nothing special, but the longer he looked, the more he glimpsed the faint, tell-tale outline of her wings, invisible to everyone but him. He stepped beside her and stared at the sky, at those glittering stars.

  “It’s a gorgeous night,” he murmured, still unused to the Tennessee sky in the evenings--a far cry from the view of the heavens in Hauser’s Landing, where the stars barely poked out for any of them to see. Of course it helped that Jimmie didn’t live in a big city, something that Lizzie often complained about.

  “Yeah,” she agreed, and even though she seemed to be looking at the ever-changing sky, Griffin got the distinct impression her thoughts lingered elsewhere.

  “Still thinking about Lev?” he asked.

  “It’s foolish to worry, I guess.” She took a deep breath and shook her head. “I mean, Evan knows what’s happening, and if anyone can handle it, it’s him. He knows what he’s doing and all that.”

  “But?”

  “But he’s still my brother for all intents and purposes, and now that he’s human, I worry.”

  Griffin nodded. “You mean because of his past, right? Because before he met Lizzie he walked a fine line between saving and falling.” He took a deep breath. “Your words, not mine.”

  “Yes, that is part of the reason. He’s more unpredictable now.” She frowned, and the expression on her face seemed almost human and vulnerable, which while endearing enough definitely didn’t put Griffin at ease. “Regardless of his past, he’s always taken care of me, and now the roles are reversed, which is…strange.”

  “I know there’s a whole lot of history between you and Lev, but you know the guy Lizzie changed is still in there, don’t you? Granted, he might be a little less stable, but he’s there, which has to count for something.” Griffin took her hand, trying to comfort her.

  Celia squeezed it and stared up at stars which had grown steadily brighter as the world grew darker. “Why don’t we take a stroll?”

  “Okay.” Although he tried to keep hold of her hand, she gently pulled away and headed down the steps, off the porch. She cast only a single glance over her shoulder to make sure he followed and then moved on.

  “Where are we going?” Griffin asked, upping his pace.

  “The lake. It’s been one of my favorite places to go and think when this world gets too crazy.”

  “Speaking of crazy, there’s something I’ve been wanting to talk about. Celia—” he began, but she waved him to silence. She fixed her blue eyes on him.

  “Perhaps this isn’t the best time, Griffin. We shouldn’t say things that can’t be taken back—just in case.”

  Before he could argue, she averted her gaze and continued down the dirt track ahead, her steps quickening as though she could simply leave the conversation behind. And why wouldn’t she, Griffin wondered. She was an angel, after all, in spite of how human she sometimes appeared.

  “Are we ever going to talk about it?” he called, his voice calm but determined.

  She didn’t answer as she waded through a knot of knee-deep grass which had choked out the path. Even in the growing darkness, though, he had no trouble seeing her, not with the soft, unearthly glow of her skin. Despite her reasons for the walk, Griffin had a pretty good idea she was still distracted. She’d let her disguise slip somewhat, and he could see the faint outline of her wings.

  Her steps quickened all the more in spite of the grass that should have slowed her, and Griffin had to jog to keep up, or at least as best he could, tangled as he was getting amid all that twisted undergrowth. She just kept pulling ahead—that is, until she stopped, so abruptly he very nearly ran into her. Motionless, Celia stared out over the lake which had seemed to loom up from out of nowhere, half hidden as it was amid a stand of swaying cattails and yet more tall, tangled grass. The full moon shone atop the still water, making it appear like there were two skies instead of just the one.

  Celia immediately held up a hand and cocked her head to one side, listening. The vague, pale shimmer behind her now brightened in a way that made her larger than life, radiant with majesty and beauty and no little power.

  “Celia?” He spoke softly, but here again she waved him to silence.

  Celia stepped closer to the lake, more determined, her wings out in the full, blinding. Griffin shielded his eyes with his hand until they could adjust and then looked again, wishing she’d tell him what was up. Celia never spooked like this, only in the presence of the fallen or some other threat too great for mortals even to fathom, and Griffin was pretty sure there were no fallen around this time, though he wasn’t entirely certain how he knew. So what was it, then—and why did he have a really, really bad feeling about it?

  Ahead, Celia tensed, spreading her wings wide. Griffin had been around long enough to know such must be instinctual, a response to whatever she saw that he couldn’t.

  “Griffin,” she hissed, “You need to run. Go back to the house—now.”

  Instead of heeding her warning, Griffin stepped closer.

  “Run, and I’ll follow soon—run if you want to live!” She waved him away, desperate for him to leave.

  Griffin ran, though he knew not what from and wasn’t sure he wanted to.

  As he sprinted through the brush, he stumbled more than once over the uneven terrain, scraping his knees and the palms of his hands—and
kept running despite the ache in his side. Before long, mercifully, he could see the house, its lights a welcome beacon of safety. He’d almost gained the porch when something slammed into him full force from behind. His feet went out from under him, then, and he pitched forward, dashing his head on the bottom step. Dizzy, he lifted his head and peered back but couldn’t see anything. Everything was a blur.

  Griffin struggled to sit up and back his way up the steps like a crab. Frantically, he searched, trying to blink away the blurriness. What had hit him--and where was it? Griffin tried to swallow past the rising panic that gnawed at his insides, but it wasn’t working. He’d never reach the door in time. He was as sure of that as he’d ever been about anything. Still, he had to try.

  A faint breeze stole in around him, tousling his hair into his face which, along with the splitting pain in his head, was quickly lulling him into inaction. Nonetheless, he scrambled frantically backward as best he could, hoping without hope.

  “Who’s there,” he called.

  “Destiny.”

  The voice came from behind him, and he whirled, finding himself face to face with a little girl with a pale face and long, dark hair that blew unnaturally about herself like black silk, as though the breeze had abruptly whipped itself into a stiff wind. The girl was thin and fragile, looking for all the world a bit like a younger version of Lizzie before her life had so dramatically changed.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Don’t worry,” she said, though her lips never moved, not even once, and the pain in Griffin’s head intensified, doubling him over. “You will.” So sweet, that voice—and altogether innocent but at the same time anything but either. She smiled.

  Again, he felt the breeze, but this time it coiled itself around him in a lover’s embrace, but then that embrace tightened into a death-grip and he couldn’t move or even scream. It was all he could do just to breathe.

  All he could manage was to stare at her, the little girl who so reminded him of Lizzie, the girl who still offered that sweet, unholy smile. Then the real pain struck him—a blast of fire at his chest, burning him to the core. He screamed without screaming, fighting to stay conscious—fighting for his life.

  Suddenly the world exploded with light that blinded him even behind closed eyelids. Still, he was bound. Then he heard the screams, like those of an animal being gutted alive. Was it human? He didn’t know, couldn’t even think.

  The pain was now unbearable, burning through every part of him at once, and he knew he was dying, consumed in flame, but then, all at once, the burning stopped, though everything still hurt, everywhere. Then suddenly he was free and could breathe again. That was it, then, wasn’t it? He was dead. That had been what it felt like to die. His head swam, and he was dimly aware of someone near. A sojourner?

  “Griffin? Can you hear me?”

  It was Celia. Not just any sojourner, then. Well, he thought. If you have to go….

  In spite of the fatigue trying to draw him down the rabbit hole, Griffin opened his eyes and found her kneeling beside him, her arms around him, holding him up. His head lay against her chest, and she seemed worried. Her wings shone in the night, brightly like the midday sun.

  “What happened?” he whispered. With every breath, he felt a thousand knives carving themselves deeply into him, cutting him into a million pieces even Celia might not be able to reassemble.

  “A dybbuk.”

  “A dybbuk,” he repeated, his voice hoarse. As he slipped toward unconsciousness, more tired than he’d ever been, he tried to understand what that meant. All he could think of was that little girl, her demonic smile, and all that fire and pain—the pain that had felt like death. And then, thankfully, sleep came.

  * * *

  One moment, Celia knelt there, holding Griffin, staring into those dark brown eyes, trying desperately to put right the wrong the dybbuk had done, and the next she saw two others rushing toward them, toward Griffin. She could sense their hunger and madness and knew they wouldn’t stop until one of them had possession of him, and even though she was an angel, she couldn’t sojourn both spirits at once. It would be a battle enough just to sojourn the first. Dybbuks never came quietly. Celia had only one choice.

  She watched the white shadows loom ever closer, closing in, consumed by hunger and time. They’d been waiting for this, but what had brought them here, and why? Why now? Celia eyed the child shielding itself behind the others, sure the dybbuk inside her had led them here, to this house, whether by accident of opportunity or otherwise she couldn’t say. The latter was something she didn’t want to give voice for fear it might be true—something deep in Lizzie neither she nor any of the other angels had counted on.

  They snarled, not sure what she was. They simply recognized that she held something they wanted—and more of them appeared. Worried, Celia looked back toward the house, praying no one else came out. Right now, the other humans remained safe, but she couldn’t guarantee that would continue if the dybbuks suddenly spotted new prey. Right now, they didn’t realize what they hungered for was so close, and Celia definitely wanted to keep it that way.

  She closed her eyes and thought of her “father”—of Evan—a silent call for help that she knew he would heed. All she could do was hope she were in time. Ordinarily, she would have counted on Lev, but Lev was mortal now and no match for dybbuks. She doubted he even remembered them.

  Rather than remaining earthbound, Celia swept Griffin skyward, keeping his head against her chest, her outstretched wings rocketing them up and up and up, away from the house. She felt one of the dybbuks grab at her foot as she ascended, twining its vile fingers around her ankle.

  Mistake.

  She looked fixedly at the dybbuk. No, this wasn’t how she wanted to do things, but it had left her no choice. Against the night, Celia felt the light and heat—the power—build inside her, driving the remaining shadows from the countryside thereabout and diminishing the creature as it enveloped the beast. From below erupted a wounded howl, and she felt it loose its grip, leaving them safely out of reach.

  From where she now hovered, Celia spotted at least three other dybbuks glaring up, lunging futilely at her. She knew their tactics well, though: exhaust the angel and steal the vessel. While they might not have recognized her before she’d shown her wings, they now knew her true form. She’d been trained against that, and there was no way she was going to lower herself until they disappeared, no matter how tired she got. Maintaining altitude would be easier than trying to fight them off while holding onto Griffin, and there was no safe place to put him.

  “Celia?”

  Evan had appeared beside her, his wings not yet materializing against the night. Still, his body glowed with energy restrained. He was ready.

  “Dybbuks—at least four.” She nodded at them. “One of them almost took Griffin.” She peered at Griffin’s face, unnerved by the blood oozing from his forehead. Yes, his life force felt as strong as it always had, but he was hurt. He needed tending, and she couldn’t do that here.

  “Have they sensed the others?” he asked, glancing toward the house.

  “No, I don’t think so. I mean, they might have initially sensed them when they headed this way, but they haven’t realized there are more vessels they could take if they chose.”

  Evan nodded. “Then I’d best give them a better reason to leave than stay.”

  Evan didn’t wait for an answer but dove low, swooping over one of the pale, white beasts and settling his hand on it. Immediately, the beast opened its mouth to howl, but nothing came out. Another ambled up behind. Celia called out, but, not looking, Evan reached back to touch that one, too.

  His body shone brighter and brighter until it had eclipsed the dybbuks. Both bodies suddenly went limp.

  The little girl gasped and stumbled back, watching in horror as Evan dealt with the two remaining dybbuks as well, quickly and dispassionately until he came to stand before her, snatching her up by the arms when she ran.

&
nbsp; “There is no place for you to hide,” he seethed.

  Celia scanned the ground for other dybbuks but found none and as such no reason to hover any longer, so she alighted quietly on the porch and watched as Evan held the child, his face a hard mask, one he rarely used with humans.

  “Why are you here?” he demanded.

  “I…think you know,” she finally said, still trying to pull free. She was no match for him, yet he did not hurt her. He wouldn’t until he had to.

  “It doesn’t matter what you think I know. Spell it out for me, anyway,” he growled, “just so we’re clear, okay?” His grip on her tightened enough to intimidate but still not to harm. “She’s here. She calls to us.”

  Evan clenched his jaw, a slight motion most would have missed, but Celia knew what it meant, and neither of them had to ask for clarification about who she was. Celia had no idea what the dybbuks meant by “She calls to us.”

  Griffin moaned and stirred, dividing her attention as she nudged him back under. He’d already seen too much she might have to erase, depending on what all this meant.

  “How could she call to you?” Evan demanded.

  The little girl gave him an evil smile. “How could she not? We both know she is changed, and every change has consequences.”

  “You’re right. It does.” Evan relaxed his grip and softened his tone. In a panic, Celia thought he might actually release the dybbuk and started to cry out. Then the light flashed through Evan and consumed both him and the little girl.

  When its brilliance had at last faded, Celia found Evan cradling the child close, her long, dark hair spilling limply over his arms.

  Evan’s eyes met Celia’s, and Celia could see the distress there, telling her the battles she thought had ended were only about to begin.

  “What does all this mean?” she asked.

  Evan shook his head and regarded the child. “I don’t know. I’ll sojourn this soul and see what I can find out in the Upper Realm about why the dybbuks suddenly congregated here. You must ward the house until we know more.” He nodded at Griffin. “How badly is he hurt?”